From the diary of an immigrant
Today I was smuggled across the border, and I finally made my way into Saudi Arabia. On the way here, I threw my ID card away (issued at the 1st Precinct of Varna, Bulgaria), so I had to tell the Saudi border control that I was a refugee from Donbass, Ukraine, looking for refuge from Putin’s terror. They immediately believed me, and they put me on the train to Riyadh for free.
Once in Riyadh, I was accommodated at a 4-star hotel (although there were vacancies at the 5-star hotel next door), and I was promised I’d be given an apartment of my own the next day. However, in the morning they started apologizing that the relocation would take one more day. The news made me furious. I tossed away the food that some teary human-rights activists had brought me, I splashed the bottle of mineral water into their faces, and I wreaked havoc across the damned hotel room. The sofa and the armchairs I threw away through the balcony. Some people on the street started yelling back at me, but the hotel manager informed them I had come from a war-torn region, I was bearing the wounds of war on my soul, and I was deeply traumatized, therefore they ought to show some understanding. They did.
On Thursday, the local authorities expelled two Arab pensioners from their publicly owned home in order to make room for me. The ungrateful old stinkers protested for a while, so the police had to come and detain them. Now they’ll be prosecuted on charges of minor hooliganism. As for myself, I was greeted by a bunch of kids with flowers at the entrance to my new neighborhood. The Saudi king suddenly appeared from somewhere, accompanied by a huge entourage, and he stopped by for a minute to shoot a selfie or two with me. I was given 2000 dollars to cover my most immediate needs, and I was promised another two grand would come the next week.
On Friday I was visited by a social worker who had been assigned to take care of me. He brought me a booklet with the first 10 articles of the Saudi Constitution, translated into my supposedly maternal Ukrainian language, and he asked me if I was in need of anything else. I put the booklet in the dustbin and told him to instruct the guy who keeps yelling from the top of that minaret just opposite my balcony to tone it down a notch, ’cause it tends to disrupt my sleep. He duly wrote that down into his notebook.
On Sunday afternoon I went downtown to investigate where their shopping malls are and get some eye-candy. Turns out all their chicks were wrapped in black like cocoons. That made me rather angry, so the next day I filed a complaint at the Municipality. That very same day, the principal of the local college issued a special address to all schoolgirls, urging them to refrain from wearing burqas, because that headgear was offensive to the honorable refugee in town. He recommended that henceforth, they should only put tight shirts and short skirts on, as my particular culture of an advanced Westerner (to them I’m a Westerner anyway) requires me to see bare hips and bosoms daily. The booklet was disseminated to all parents in the neighborhood, for the purpose of proper information and implementation.
I complained to the social worker about their food as well. The mutton was too greasy for my delicate stomach, and the beef was a bit too stringy for my tender teeth. I explained I preferred lean meat – pork steaks perhaps, or fillet in the worst-case scenario. He promised to take measures. Now all kebab chefs in the neighborhood have been instructed not to openly shove their mutton into my face, lest they cause me internal discomfort.
I’m telling you, it ain’t easy being a refugee! Today I had to walk for a thousand feet in order to get my social aid – which is no more than 2000 bucks, damn it! This pissed me off big time, so I vented off at a schoolgirl whom I came across in the park. “Yo bitch, why are you trotting around in this burqa? Weren’t you told to put a miniskirt on?”, I yelled at her. She happened to play it tough with me at first, so I gave her a couple of slaps on her face. I was considering dragging her into the thicket and giving it to her, but then I figured what a pain it’d be to unwrap all those fabrics off her, so I decided to pass. Later I found out her brothers weren’t okay with the beating, so they had filed a complaint against me at the police, and they had even organized some sort of petition against me. The Minister of the Interior himself had to get involved eventually, and show up on the local television to defend me. “We owe Christians some understanding today”, he argued, “and hope that tomorrow when they become a majority here, they’d reciprocate”. That made sense.
Today in the morning I told the social worker I was bored to death, so I ordered him to move a bit faster on the task of finding me some entertainment: a strip club or pride parade maybe, or something of the sort. He blinked at me at first, but I had the patience to explain that we’re already in the 21st century, and everyone should be taught of the new progressive values of the liberal and democratic Western world, because that is the future. I’m not sure he fully understood me, but still, he did write that down in his notebook.
Later in the afternoon, some pollsters came to do some research on me. They asked me some silly questions. I had the patience to be sincere with them, so I admitted I deeply despised and resented the state that had adopted me, but I didn’t mind being fed by it. I also said I wouldn’t mind if those 2000 bucks became 3000 the next week. No problem, I could get over it.
Unfortunately, the scandal with that schoolgirl still seems to be lingering around (heh, did I say lingerie?), so the central national television arranged some debate and invited some members of several NGOs called America For Saudi Arabia, Open-Ass Society, Amnesty for Westerners, and the Arab Helsinki Committee. All of them agreed I had been accused unfairly, and my detractors were all xenophobic bigots, racist fascists, antihumanists, cannibals and Christianophobes. All in all, despicable human beings. Half of them had been abused by their fathers in their childhood, the other half had slept with their mothers. I finished watching the TV show with a smile, now reassured that those who were hatin’ on me were just the scum of the local society, and the truly progressive part were really behind me.
Today the social worker asked me if I wanted to start a job. I told him I still wasn’t feeling quite integrated, so he better stop wasting my time with such nonsense. I’d rather stick to the social aid, thanks. Sure, 3000 bucks ain’t that much, but like they say, it is what it is. I’ll manage somehow. To cut the long story short, I hate it here!